The Palest Ink: An Interactive Story
by reen212000
Summary: John Sheppard's got new body paint. Who gets painted? You decide!


Written for the sgaflashfic Body Modification Challenge on LJ... Dedicated to divineway!

**A/N:**All right. I've never written anything like this, so be kind. But it popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone. Just havin' some fun... Fill in the blanks with your favorite character!

Also: Keep in mind we are dealing with two Sheppards here: The Colonel, the dominate commander of troops, and John, the more submissive dreamer. And pardon the vagueness. Putting too much inflection into the mystery character wouldn't allow you to pick a person, ya know?

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John sat on the cool floor in his quarters, bare legs stretched before him. He stared dazedly at the designs he had drawn over every inch of exposed skin. Now, he adorned his arms with primary colors. The colonel was so engrossed in his squiggles, he missed the knock at the door.

A sudden whoosh of air on his bare skin made him stop and look up, surprise stamped all over his face. "Ummm, hi," he said sheepishly. "I didn't hear you knocking."

( ) smiled crookedly. "I can see that. New hobby?"

Spots of red graced John's cheeks as he held his smile in place. "You could say that." Abruptly, he placed the small jar on the floor and began to rise. "I, umm..."

"Please don't wash it off on my account, Colonel." ( ) stepped closer extending a hand to touch the military officer's arm. "Is that a flower?" Their finger came away wet with paint.

The colonel rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not dry yet. Here," he said quickly plucking a stained cloth off his bed. Grasping the painted finger, he stammered, "Lemme wash that off."

( ) snatched his/her hand back. "Who said anything about getting clean?"

Something stirred behind the normally masked face of John Sheppard, turning his hazel eyes a brilliant green. Holding out the thin brush to his companion, he smiled coyly. "Why don't you do the other arm?"

Tentatively, he/she took the brush, thinking of it as a challenge. "All right. On one condition."

John stepped closer, arm outstretched. "What's that?"

( ) took a moment to gather his/her thoughts. Having the Chief Military Officer in such close proximity was dangerous. He/she could feel the colonel's slow warm breath tickling their ear. An idea struck. "I get to leave one design somewhere on your body only we'll know about. And I will be the one to wash it off." Slowly dipping the brush in a jar of red, ( ) looked up at John's face through dark lashes. "So, I guess that's two conditions."

The colonel cocked a brow curiously at his friend. "Well, if that's all you got, then I agree. But only if I get to do the same."

Nodding in agreement, they sat down on his bed. ( ) began to make archaic designs on the colonel's arm, blowing on it to dry the paint.

Shivering slightly, John relaxed as the warm air caressed the fine hairs on his arm. The pilot had never considered himself submissive, but for some reason, ( ) made everything easy. Watching closely, he stole a glance at the painter. "I didn't know you could paint so well," he said quietly.

( ) hesitated before answering. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

John leaned closer, taking a breath. "What are you wearing?"

Nonchalantly, ( ) dipped the brush in another color after cleaning it. His/her hand gently clasped the colonel's deceptively thin wrist. After a moment, he/she looked into the colonel's eyes. "Shampoo," ( ) said, tossing a sideways smile. He/she finished painting the pilot's hand, promptly blowing on it to dry the paint, listening for the tell-tale shuddering breath from John.

"Smells nice," he whispered shakily. Sobering slightly, John twitched a brow. "What do you have in mind for my special design?"

Now it was ( )'s turn to be coy. "Some things are better left unsaid."

John chuckled softly, tilting his head to the side to catch his companion's eyes. "Well, it must be quite impressive."

"I've been waiting a long time to have you in this position, you know." ( ) watched the colonel squirm under the scrutiny of his/her stare. "You are not someone I would call... receptive... to such frivolity. At least that's what I thought," he/she said with an enigmatic smile.

"Until now."

"Yes, until now," ( ) laughed, dropping the hand he/she had been painting. Tugging at the hem of the colonel's black tee shirt, he/she leaned in, nose grazing John's ear. "Take off your shirt," they whispered.

Feeling his heart skip a beat, John hesitated, remembering there would likely be a fresh bruise or a scrape somewhere on his person. There would most certainly be a scar the colonel was not ready – or willing – to talk about. The heat of embarrassment crept up John's neck. He felt a hand stroke his cheek, and turned into the caress. The questing hand rested on his chin, gently swiveling his head back to meet a pair of suspiciously bright eyes.

"Don't worry about it," ( ) said knowingly. He/she had seen most parts of the colonel's lean, muscular body, but from afar and usually in a medical situation. At this moment, ( ) felt it was important to convey that he/she was comfortable with such displays of combat. "They are just reminders that we lived through it." A smile played at the corners of their mouth. "Whatever 'it' might be."

John closed his eyes, nodding his consent. Lifting his arms, he let ( ) pull off his stifling shirt. He kept his eyes downcast as he felt the bed shift.

( ) rose slowly, tossing the shirt onto the bed. "Lie down, Colonel," he/she said placing a hand on his/her friend's shoulder.

Acquiescing, John pulled his long legs onto the bed. To his immediate surprise, ( ) climbed atop him, straddling his narrow hips. "Well, since you're on top, you should really call me John."

( ) threw his/her head back in laughter. "All right then. John. Be still." He/she bent down, taking in the body below. There was a strange beauty to the scars that decorated the colonel's skin; they lay barely visible underneath the fine hair on his torso. Spotting a fading bruise on John's left shoulder, ( ) made a decision. Delicately, he/she began the first design that came to mind. "Let me know if this hurts."

John's dangerous smile returned. "You could never hurt me." The smile dimmed ever so slightly. "Not physically anyway."

( )'s eyes shifted away, then back. Their gentle hands worked quickly as they tried to ignore the colonel's rising body heat. Another shuddering breath, and the unmistakable movement below only made them work faster. The design was sloppy and neat, simple and complex all together, as ( ) covered the entire bruise with blue paint. Leaning back, ( ) felt John's eyes on him/her. For the first time, he/she felt uncomfortable under the weight of his stare. Breaking his gaze, ( ) bent down to blow on the wet paint.

The pilot felt the warm breath on his skin, and closed his eyes. He tried to remember the last time he was in this position and came up blank. Here, he was giving permission to a colleague to not only see – and paint – places people have merely seen when he was injured. Or surfing.

Lying on his soft bed, he willed himself to sink further. John rested his hands lightly on the legs of ( ), aching to feel the warm flesh beneath the fabric. He stared at the intricate ceiling over ( )'s shoulder, trying not to feel trapped. Closing his eyes again, John wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Let go and cower away. Breathe and drown. This was no way to live! Feeling a soothing hand trace the line of his ribs, the pilot opened his eyes. John watched his companion's eyes darken at the sight of numerous scars. "Is it my turn?" he asked, his voice thick and low.

The wandering hand found its way back to John's cheek. Suddenly, both hands were in his hair as he/she planted an experimental kiss on John's lips. ( ) wondered briefly about the paint brush as he/she allowed himself/herself to get lost in a deeper kiss, this time instigated by one John Sheppard.

John's hands bracketed ( )'s waist to push them away. "Now," he breathed, "why am I the only one half-naked?"

Pulling further back, ( ) brought the colonel's face into sharp focus. He/she felt a smile split their face, and swooped in for one more kiss. Finally, extricating himself/herself from John's long arms and legs, ( ) stood happily over the reclining man. He/she removed their pants with practiced ease.

With a little effort, John rose off the bed. "Definitely my turn," he said pushing ( ) back onto the bed. Their roles were switched; and The Colonel emerged, reveling in his comfort zone. He was now in control. Placing his hands on either side of his dalliance, he wriggled his body in between ( )'s legs. On all fours, The Colonel's green eyes raked over his prize. Rocking back to sit on his heels, he grabbed ( )'s hands, pulling him/her up to a sitting position. Raising his/her arms up over their heads, The Colonel let go to work on the shirt of his companion.

The Colonel curled his fingers around the hem of the shirt, slowly pulling it up. Short nails scratching bare skin, John deliberately stopped when the fabric covered ( )'s face. Moving forward, The Colonel found his second favorite place to kiss on the human body. He planted his mouth on the sternum, then moved to his favorite place, the base of the throat.

Removing the shirt completely, The Colonel looked into ( )'s eyes, wicked smile tugging at the corners of his own eyes. Several kisses later, he pulled away. His wandering hand had found the missing brush. "Finally," he said huskily. Grabbing the red jar, he turned around on the bed, back to his friend. "Give me your leg."

( ) did so, gladly lifting his/her right leg, eager to see what The Colonel had in store for their appendage. He/she felt the light touch of the brush tickling the top of their foot. Resisting the urge to pull it away from the painter, ( ) clutched the sheets, scarcely breathing.

"Relax," The Colonel commanded.

"I'm very ticklish in that area," ( ) gasped. Unfortunately for him/her, The Colonel seemed to delight in the torture. The brush moved in swift short strokes for ten minutes up 's leg, ending abruptly just above the knee. He/she watched The Colonel's slightly bony spine curve downward as he gently blew on the wet paint to dry it. Straightening, he rinsed the brush and reached over for the yellow jar.

"This is a two color job, you know," John said, tossing a smile over his shoulder.

When The Colonel finished, ( ) felt warm breath on their skin. "Can I see it now?" he/she asked in a small voice, watching the tensed back between his/her legs.

"_Sergeant Rhimes to Colonel Sheppard." Discarded radios echoed in stereo from the floor._

Immediately, The Colonel's eyes narrowed as he picked up his ear piece. "Sheppard here," he announced in an empty voice.

"_Sir, the new recruits will be ready in one hour."_

"Thank you, Sergeant. Sheppard out." John pulled off the comm, placing it on the stand. Using his free hand, he patted ( )'s outstretched leg. Before the mask slipped back, The Colonel's face showed disappointment and a little sadness. Then it was gone, replaced by the patented John Sheppard lopsided grin. "How 'bout we wash this stuff off?"

"If you insist, John." ( ) hesitated, seeing the wicked smile fleet across the pilot's face. Leaning forward, he/she placed their hands on either side of John's face. Pulling gently, they only felt momentary resistance before their lips met.

Rising, John held out his hand. "Come on. I wanna look at my design." He led the way to his bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he saw a swirling pattern, darkened by the bruise. "That's a fine lookin' owie. Does it mean anything?"

( ) smiled at John's quizzical reflection. "It means Eternity in (choose origin of design, i.e., Athosian, Satedan, Celtic, etc.)" Glancing down at their leg, he/she lifted it to see better in the dim light. "What language is this?"

"It's either a Chinese proverb, or I've just ordered a taxi for my turkey sandwich."

Placing their hands on the broad shoulders in front of him/her, ( ) caught John's eye in the mirror. "What does it mean?"

The colonel reached up, capturing a hand with his own. He smiled distantly. "The palest ink is better than the best memory." He silently asked his shower to turn on, at his preferred heat setting. Leaning back into ( )'s embrace, John held his/her gaze in the mirror until the steam blended their indistinct faces together.

THE END

Well, that was just silly...


End file.
